


Tord Dies At The End

by paraparanom



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Blood and Gore, Gen, Gore, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mutilation, Post The End, Redemption Fail, Tord Fucked Up, and not some anime bs, honestly i only wrote this because i came up w/ the end scene and thought it was hilarious, stuttering character based off authors own stuttering issues, tord's probably dead because he sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 12:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12190251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraparanom/pseuds/paraparanom
Summary: "Dressed in a ruined t-shirt and pants, half of his body wrapped in red fabric, Tord gave in, and made his way down the cliff."nobody comes to pick tord up after the wreckage because it makes for good plot





	Tord Dies At The End

Smoke billowed out from the wreckage like a thick grey quilt. The fumes were overwhelming, and smog heavily curled around into the sky, dark clouds drifting overhead. On the edge of a steep cliff overlooking two destroyed homes was an awful wreckage. Red metal scattered along the peak, glass glittering on the ground leading to the frame for an enormous visor. It was connected to a large hunk of crimson metal, previously the 'head’ of a robot. A light blue harpoon was lodged inside, taking root in the smashed control panel, fraying the wiring and slicing open some of the safety straps to the captain's seat. A chunk of burnt red fabric was caught on part of the harpoon. The robots hard drive seemed to be fried out, and unresponsive. Much like the man buried under some of the leftover rubble.

Tord didn't realize how much pain he was truly in until after he emerged from the wreckage. A plate of searing hot metal was currently resting on top of his right arm, and he was five feet under robotic parts. Using his left foot, Tord pushed the plate off his unresponsive arm, letting out a sharp intake of breath as it skidded off his skin. Or at least, what was left of it.

Pushing a large chunk of metal off of his body, Tord managed to shakily get to his feet, nearly collapsing when he attempted to put more weight on his right leg. His entire right side was useless. Tord’s signature red hoodie was almost unrecognizable, stained with dark burns and dirt and blood. The right arm sleeve was gone, and the rest of the right side was ripped to shreds, exposing his twisted, bleeding and burnt flesh. His right pant leg was still attached, but shredded much like his hoodie.

Tord's right side was a dark, wicked crimson color. Third degree burns littered his gnarly flesh, and his arm got the worst of it. He couldn't move it at all- the arm was dead weight. Bone shone through the open skin, and dark, fresh, scars  scattered the surface. Blood trickled downwards like a fresh stream, dripping off of his fingertips. Upwards, Tord's face didn't didn't fare much better.

His right jaw was partially exposed, teeth coated in blood. Tord was nearly unrecognizable, half his hair completely gone. Deep cuts ran through his cheek, burns encompassing his skin. Part of his right ear was now gone, as well as his right eye, which seemed to have melted. He was half blind, and half deaf.

Despite this gory occurrence, the sun set, leaving a beautiful reflection of pinks, yellows, and oranges across the robot wreckage. It made Tord upset, the way life seemed to carry on peacefully even with what he had done. Even as he suffered.

Limping, Tord made his way to the edge of the cliff. He saw blurry blobs of blue, green and purple. His old- well, they weren't really friends anymore. He had planned to wait for backup. His right hand men weren't at all the best, but they were at least reliable. Neither quality changed the fact that Tord waited, and they never showed.

By now it was dark. Tord made his own bandages from his hoodie. Even all that fabric couldn't stop the blood. Slow it, but not stop it.

Dressed in a ruined t-shirt and pants, half of his body wrapped in red fabric, Tord gave in, and made his way down the cliff.

Tord was half blind, walking with one badly functioning leg, in the dark. Naturally, the inevitable happened. He tripped. He stumbled and tripped and skidded and tumbled down the cliff. He reached the bottom eventually, desperately clutching onto a tree for support. Tord's head was pounding against his skull, making his heartbeat feel as if it was vibrating his entire body. His vision spun, and Tord ached as he tried to walk in a straight line.

Stumbling along like a wasted sailor, he had made it to a main street. Although, Tord had no idea where he was. The spinning vision made it impossible to read any signs, and his sense of familiarity was gone. Tord leaned against a building for support, catching his breath. His chest unevenly fell and rose, his desperate breaths no more than rasps. One of his lungs could be punctured, and he knew he had at least three broken ribs.

He had dealt with such things before, but never to this extent. And never all at once.

Tord’s eye frantically ran back and forth, scanning his blurry surroundings. Buildings seemed to blend into each other. He couldn't differentiate between anything.

That is, until he saw blue.

A bright blue blur in the distance, became a recognizable bright blue blur as it came closer. The familiar blob set off warning alarms in Tord's brain, yelling at him to “Stay away!! Danger!! Danger!!”. Not that he would adhere to the warnings. Yes, Tord knew it was Tom, and honestly Tom is the last person he wanted to see right now- especially in his currently weakened and defenseless state, but he needed help. Tord hated to admit it but- dear god he needed help. And he was pretty sure the gang was his last hope, unless he wanted to die alone, cold and bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere.

As painful as it was to admit.

Tord limped and stumbled across the street, making his way to what he assumed was Tom's apartment building. The automatic doors opened with a 'shing’ and he stepped into the cream colored lobby. He tracked blood in, tarnishing the cleanliness of the place, but Tord couldn't find it in himself to give a flying fuck.

A twenty something woman sat at the front desk, chewing a wad of bubblegum obnoxiously. Her feet were propped up on the counter, and her eyes scanned some sort of teen tabloid magazine proclaiming which hot new celebrities we're cheating on other hot new celebrities.

Tord leaned heavily on the counter, not bothering wasting energy in order to press the bell to get her attention. Gathering his diminishing courage, Tord let out a haggard cough to clear his throat, not fazed by the blood leaving his mouth with each heave and wheeze. A few new splatter on his already soaked hoodie wouldn't matter at this point.

In the hoarsest voice imaginable, he barely spoke “Can- ca-  _ can  _ you teh- t- teh- tell-  _ tell _ me which room Taw- Taw- Taw- T- _ Tom’s _ in?”

The woman at the front desk didn't even look up, instead rolling her eyes at the ground. She popped her gum.

“The guy with black eyes and the blue hoodie?”

Tord gave a cough of affirmation.

“Floor seven, apartment 5B. Elevators on your right.”

Tord turned, noticing there were in fact, two silver elevator doors. He pressed the button to call the lift, and staggered inside, pressing the button for floor seven. As the doors closed, Tord felt his body moving upwards very fast. His vision teetered back and forth like a seesaw, and Tord felt himself desperately grip onto the lifts available handle bar. Since when was riding in elevators so terrifying?

It just seemed so fast, and compact. And now the roof was closing in on him and the walls were getting closer and- oh god he couldn't breathe- why- what- what was going on- he can't breathe- he's going to die- he's going to crash and burn and die horribly and alone and it's so tight and everything's closing in  _ he can't breathe- _

Tord didn't realize he slammed the floor three button until the lift stopped.

The doors slid open, revealing the vacant hallway of floor three. Thomas and co. was on floor seven. Four floors to go, and he was no way in hell taking the elevator.

 

)()()()()()(

 

The unfortunate thing about taking the stairs is that, in Tord's condition, he was literally about to collapse. His heart was pounding and he could barely stay conscious. His head swam, and his vision was no better. Leaning heavily on his left arm, Tord left bloodied handprints on the railing, as well as streaks of red on the greyish beige concrete walls from when he had to stop and take a breather- which was frequently. Not to mention the blood droplets decorating every other step.

It was awful.

Finally, Tord had made it to floor seven. Ready to die as ever. When he made it to apartment 5B he almost cried.

Sliding against the door, he attempted to knock. It was weak. His hand was shaking. Tord's knock sounded like a light thud. He couldn't find it in himself to care, so Tord collapsed completely against the door, finally giving into how much it hurt. His breath was ragged, but thankfully his weight dropping against the door was loud enough to get the attention of those inside.

“Tom! Get the door!”

"Matt! Get the door!”

“Edd! Get the door!”

There was a loud sigh. “I hate you guys.”

“You started it.”

Footsteps lead to the door. He was so close.

“Mmm, I don't see anyone out the peephole. Must've been a dingdong ditch.”

...

_Fuck_.

**Author's Note:**

> the end probably. unless my friend makes me write a different ending


End file.
